Clinical
by thatTWWgirl
Summary: A story revolving around the time of Noel. What if Leo and Donna had been too late?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Why, hello there. For those of you who don't know me, I'm thatTWWgirl, and I'm one of those stark raving mad, foaming at the mouth J/D fans. But no worries. I don't bite. **

**For those of you who have been sent here by my other story, A Collection, I decided not to post this as a part of that for two reasons: One, it's much darker than anything I'd written there, and Two, because I'd like this to develop into it's own little story. Fair enough? Alright.**

**So this is set in the few weeks leading up to _Noël_, and centers around the what if: _what if Donna and Leo were too late? _**

**Rating: M **

**Reviews: Yes please. I'd lie and say something like "I'll post more when you review", but, let's not kid ourselves. I couldn't stop myself from posting were I to duct tape myself to a chair.**

**Disclaimer: What? I don't own the West Wing? Take me back to never land, Peter!**

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She stares, almost lovingly, at his face as he sleeps. She's mesmerized, perhaps, in a way she's never been before. Never before had his face seemed so tranquil, so much like a mask. It's easy to forget his waking chaos when his features are so relaxed, so at ease. He looks happy. She resists the urge to reach out and touch him, just to be sure he's real.

Yes, he looks peaceful.

But then he shifts slightly, his arm moving away from his body. A hint of the storm sweeps the calm from his face - but in an instant, his veneer returns. Like a ripple in the surface of a lake.

In this position, she can't keep her eyes from the white bandages contrasting so clearly with his skin, so foreign on his body. They wrap tightly around his forearm, and the sight of them brings her back to reality.

He's not peaceful.

She loathes these bandages, but she supposes they're a better sight than what they mask. As reality threatens to engulf her, fresh tears spill over her cheeks. The hot kind, the angry kind. The kind that burn your eyes and sting your cheeks. She longs to sob, but knows he'll hear her.

She's glad they'd left him in his t-shirt. A hospital gown would've been too much.

It might've broken her.

When Toby had delivered the news, his eyes never met hers. She thought _surely_ she was broken then. But she had held the pieces together just long enough to repeat that one word - quietly, desperately she'd pleaded it.

"Attempted?"

Toby nodded numbly. "Yes. He's at GW."

"...Attempted?" The tears threatened to spill over, and it was that one word that was keeping the world from tumbling down around her. Or at the very least, it was providing some sort of shelter against it.

Toby's shoulders went slack, and it was then that he gathered her in his arms. He could feel her shaking, and forced himself to remain steady. "He didn't succeed, Donna. He didn't succeed."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She wakes to Leo's hand on her shoulder, and has to keep herself from crying out. He looks down at her with shadowed eyes, and wordlessly gestures for her to follow him out of the room.

Glancing behind her, she sees that Josh is still asleep. The bag of blood that had been trickling slowly into his IV is empty, and she wonders vaguely if he has enough now. He's pale.

Upon closing the door behind them, Leo takes a steadying breath. "Has he been awake?"

She shakes her head, one hand over her mouth. She's not sure what would come out were she to uncover it.

"Okay. Okay." He takes another slow breath, but oxygen doesn't appear to be doing him much good. "When he does, they're transferring him."

She slowly lowers her hand, and speaks one carefully measured word. "Where?"

He stares at his shoes. "Out of the ICU."

"Where?"

Another shuddering breath, and he raises his eyes to hers. "The Wilson's Hospital."

This shouldn't surprise her, but it does. The name hits her like a ton of bricks - but not in the usual sense. It's like a ton of bricks hitting her one by one, as she recognizes the name and then takes a moment to place it. As it's significance floods in, the bricks come harder and faster.

"Wilson's?"

"Just for a while."

She imagines his reaction to this. His indignation, his inability to cope with the label they'll put on him. The way people will look at him.

She imagines him in a white room, his mind frantically looking for something, anything, to distract him from himself. Looking frantically for some_one_. Tears begin to sting her eyes once more, and her voice is a whisper.

"They're sending him to a mental hospital."

"Just for a while."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The first thing he registers when he wakes is the smell. The crisp, invasive scent of antiseptic and bleached sheets and no escape. He's back. He's back to images of the shooting, to shouts ringing and sirens blaring.

The first thing he feels upon waking, is _fear_.

He has to escape this. But he can't open his eyes, won't confirm what he already knows. He has to escape, and... Wait. Hadn't he tried?

Ah. That's why he's here.

"Shh, shh. It's okay." He feels a cold hand on his arm, hears her voice softer and kinder than it's ever been in his waking hours. She must think he's still asleep.

She moves her hand lower (what's that odd feeling in his forearm?) and grasps his hand.

He had tried to escape, and he'd failed.

The second thing he feels upon waking, is _relief_.

He's quieter now, sinking back against the loathsome pillows beneath him. Yes, he remembers now. Donna's squeezing his hand incredibly tightly. The feeling of relief that he's here, he's really still here, is overpowering, but he knows it won't last long. He forces his eyes open.

Her face is tired, it's worn. He wonders how long she's been here. Her eyes are worried, intensely so, but they fill with a look of surprise, almost panic, upon meeting his.

"Josh. You're awake."

What should he say? _Yes, but who knows how long I'll be able to bear it?_ "Yeah."

She shifts forward further, if that's possible, in her chair. She makes a brave attempt at a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I'm alive." Ok, absolutely horrible choice of words. He sees her brow furrow and attempts to backpedal. "I mean, I'm fine." He can't meet her eyes.

"Okay. That's good." She's trying very hard to sound upbeat. It makes his heart twinge. "Do you... Need anything?"

_I need a lot of things._ "Uhh, no."

"Okay. That's good." She repeats. Her eyes flick downward, and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "Let me know if you do, okay?"

"Kay."

The third thing he feels upon waking, is intense _shame_. Intense shame that is very closely tied with guilt.

He feels the heat in his face as he looks at her dismal form. He's made her this way. It's his fault. How could he have done this?

The shame is physically painful now. It's threatening to crush his chest.

_How could he have done this_?

He hardly remembers the thoughts in his head at the time. No... the _thought_.

_Escape_.

The only thought he was able to form, to hear clearly above the racket. _Escape_.

"How are _you_... Feeling?"

She looks up again with the same panicked, uncertain look. "Me?" She gives a short laugh. "I'm fine, Josh, I'm fine."

"Oh... Good."

Her hand twitches in his, as if she's only just remembered it's still there. To stop any thoughts of her removing it, he tightens his grip. _Don't let go._

He feels a vague pain, like that of a dream, coursing through his forearm at the pressure.

Ah. And he'd almost forgotten.

_He sees himself rifling through his cabinet for something, anything. _Escape_._

_Why are his neighbors playing the sound of sirens through their stereo? This doesn't make sense, he's there and he's not, he's on the blood soaked pavement._

_Escape._

_His eyes alight on the bright blade. He'd been hoping for less pain, but what does it matter now? He's been shot in the chest, there isn't much pain left to feel._

_He hardly registers the sensation as he drags the object from his inner elbow to wrist, multiple times. Surely he's using enough pressure, he's never pushed on anything so hard._

_And to think, misunderstood teenagers with purple hair, and... and piercings, do this for kicks._

_That's little league, kids._

_Why are the sirens so loud?_

_He's no longer on the blood soaked pavement, he's on his blood soaked tile floor. But maybe they're the same thing. Who knows._

Escape_._

"Josh?" Her voice is panicked, drawing him into reality.

"Sorry." He says, managing to look up at her. "Drifted off for a second."

She purses her lips, and takes her time before speaking. "I've only just remembered. I'm supposed to get a nurse when you wake up."

"Okay." He watches her exit, feels the loss of her hand in his. Her haunted eyes won't leave his mind.

The guilt has returned.

He hadn't thought of her for a moment last night. He hadn't thought of anyone.

Aside from himself, of course.

He hadn't thought of anyone, but he couldn't avoid doing so, now.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"You got all your stuff?" Leo looks straight ahead, at the back of the driver's seat in front of him. Josh wishes that it wasn't the secret service driving them, but Leo had insisted.

"Didn't have much with me." Josh points out. Only what had been on him. "Donna went over to my apartment to grab some stuff. Seeing as they wouldn't let me go."

Leo winces, but doesn't respond to this last statement. "That's good. It's good to have your own stuff with you, ya know. It helps, I would know."

"It's not exactly the same, Leo."

"I was in a facility."

"Yeah, but not because you were clinically ins-"

"_I_ was in a facility because I had a problem, and now _you're_ in a facility because you have a problem." Leo has a direct way of stating things that makes them seem infinitely simpler. "I got better, and so will you."

"Yeah, but I don't have to go the looney bin to do it. I'm not one of those people, I'm not-"

"Josh." Leo's voice is low. "We're not doing this again, ok?"

Josh sighs. Sometimes he minds that Leo's paternal treatment entails talking to him as if he's a small child, but this isn't one of those times. Maybe he needs it.

"Okay, let's go." He opens the door before realizing that Leo hasn't actually agreed to do anything more than drive him. "I mean, if you'll..."

"Of course I'm going to come check you in!" He says with exasperation. "What kind of cold hearted bastard do you take me for?"

Josh slides out of the car, grinning. "Right."

"I have to make sure you don't shoot up the place."

"What makes you think I would?"

"You _are_ clinically insane." That's Leo, blunt as a gavel.

Josh, surprisingly, is relieved at Leo's humor. He's glad someone isn't entirely uncomfortable about the situation. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not going down without a fight, though. Until they've got me in the straight jacket..."

"It won't be long."

Josh debates which arm to use to open the door. One hand is bandaged, the other arm is. He goes for his wrapped right hand, and winces. He speaks up quickly, hoping Leo won't notice. "It'll take a fleet of nurses."

"Or a blow gun with sedatives."

"That's a happy thought."

They approach the counter, and joining the short line, Leo turns to him with mirth. "Be good, and I might even buy you a cookie."

"Oh, shut up, will you?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Donna marches across the parking lot of Wilson's hospital. In her arms is a backpack (Josh's) that she can't bring herself to put on. She'd rather hug it to her chest, shoulders hunched against the cold.

She was glad that the paramedics, or perhaps the neighbors, had cleaned up his bathroom last night. It was what she'd been fearing the entire drive over to his apartment: the blood, the disarray.

She'd begun to panic the minute he'd asked her to go. But how could she say no? His hand had been surprisingly tight on her wrist, his face inches from hers in the GW lobby.

"_Please. I won't wear their white cotton, or their moth eaten sweaters, or their... Their rubber bottomed slippers, designed so you won't hurt yourself. That stuff's worse than the straight jacket, I'm telling you_." The corners of his mouth were twitched up in a smile, but his eyes were dark.

She'd shivered, forced a smile, and nodded. She was a good assistant, and a good friend. She'd do whatever it took.

She was also relieved to find that she still had some clothes at his place from when she'd stayed with him that summer. She shrugged out of her slacks hurriedly and put on some jeans, a tshirt. She'd wanted to grab one of his sweatshirts, but refrained. He'd probably ask why.

She enters the too-bright lobby filled with too-bright colors, and makes her way to the front desk, blinking.

"May I help you, sweetie?"

She startles, looking at the middle aged nurse in front of her. "Oh, yes. Sorry. I'm here as a visitor." She employs her best fake smile and steps up to the counter.

"Who are you visiting?"

"Josh... Joshua Lyman."

The nurse clicks away on her keyboard. "Okay, he's in the West Wing."

She almost laughs aloud. Almost. "Oh... Okay. Where is that?"

The nurse, whose name tag reads Stacy, peers up at her. "What's in the bag?"

"I'm just bringing him some clothes, and whatnot."

"I'll have to check it, before you can go up."

Donna hands over the bag nervously. "Okay."

The nurse pulls out the carefully folded tshirts, jeans, button downs, etc. Donna was an incredibly skilled packer, and there was still room left over for his shoes in the bottom and books in the front pocket.

"Okay. Most of this is alright." She pulls out the belt. "He can't have this."

"Wh-" The question dies in her throat. She knows why.

Stacy deftly begins untying his shoelaces. "He can't have these either."

She wants to cry, but forces herself not to. "Okay."

The nurse holds up the laces triumphantly, before clumsily shoving the shoes back into the bag. She also crams the clothes back in haphazardly, and Donna winces.

"It says here he's not allowed newspaper. Or work documents." She gives Donna the once over. "You got any?"

"No." she says bemusedly.

"Alright." She hands Donna the bag back. "To your left, up the stairs."

"Thank you."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When she finally sees him, he has yet to notice her. The nurses on his floor had been helpful, but as he was a new patient, they weren't entirely oriented with him yet. The sign on the door still glares at her, though it's not visible from the inside.

_Adult. Non-Aggressive Danger to Self. _

She wasn't supposed to see it, it was the door to the nurses station. But she had. And she hopes Josh hasn't.

She approaches him almost cautiously. He's on a couch in one of the main rooms, staring blankly at the television. At least there's no straight jacket.

"Hey."

His head snaps toward her, and she's glad she doesn't jump. He smiles a little. "They won't let me watch CNN. What is this crap?"

She smiles a little, too, and takes a seat beside him. "I think it's _the young and the restless."_

"My mom watches this."

"Mine too."

"It's terrible."

"Pretty much." She sighs, leaning back in the couch. She doesn't want this to be hard. But she doesn't want them to pretend it isn't. "How are you?"

"Better, now that you're here." She looks at him sharply in surprise, and his eyes display that he too has realized his mistake. "Ya know, with some normal human clothes." He covers, cracking a smile.

"You don't look _entirely_ abnormal." He's in the slacks and tshirt he'd been in last night. She imagines he'd been in a dress shirt, too, but that it'd been... Ruined, in the process.

She wonders if he'd had a belt, before he came in.

"I'm still devastatingly handsome?"

"_But_ then again, normal for you isn't what it is for most people." She continues on as if she didn't hear him.

He grins. "You're right, normal for me is glorious for most people."

"I'm feeling graced by your very presence."

"Don't ever forget it."

"I won't." She says sarcastically, but realizing what she's said, her expression sobers. "Go change." She hands him the backpack roughly.

"Okay." His expression has lost it's mirth as well, but it's unreadable. He stands. "I'll shower, too. I need to get the hospital smell off me."

The look on his face makes her think that he's regretting having said this. "Okay."

He doesn't move. "You'll be here when I get back?"

She smiles. "Yeah. I'm not going anywhere." She desperately wants him to say _Me neither._

"Okay." He walks down the hallway, not quite achieving his normal swagger. She sighs again, sinking back into the couch. It smells of laundry detergent.

Two other patients, she knows by their wristbands, are talking in hushed voices across the room, at a table. She gets the distinct impression they're talking about her. It's an older woman and a young man, and after a few minutes the old woman bursts into laughter. Loud, wild laughter. The young man's face reveals the ghost of a smile.

She turns away, staring blankly at the screen in front of her, as Josh had been doing minutes earlier. She imagines that even those who come with a mind might lose it in a place like this.

For the first time since Josh has woken up, she allows herself to cry. Or moreover, she can't seem to stop herself any longer. The tears fall hard and fast, and she covers her mouth with one hand to prevent herself being heard.

She's tired. She's worried. She's shocked. She's unbearably sad. And she's angry.

She's so bitterly, bitterly angry.

But that doesn't help anyone. And she has to help him. She wants to, right? She always helps him.

Anger didn't help him.

"Donna?"

She looks up through her tears. She hadn't noticed his return. He stands in front of her uncertainly, one hand in his wet hair. There are fresh, even more unnatural looking bandages on his hand and his arm. He's in a Bartlet for America shirt, and jeans. They're falling down a little. Probably because he doesn't have a belt.

"Are you okay?"

She tries to say something, anything to tell him that she is. That it's not her they should be worrying about. But all she can do is shake her head, her entire body shaking with it.

He sinks on to the couch beside her, and pulls her taut, balled form into his arms. A part of her wants to beat against his chest in anger, but instead she curls against it, allowing his chin to rest on top of her hair.

"Shh... Shh. It's... It's okay." He doesn't tell her to stop crying, as he normally does. He simply hugs her to him, not caring in the least that she's soaking his shirt. "It'll be okay."

They sit like this for a while. Neither mention the irony that it's he who comforts her.

He makes to shift, to move, and she speaks for the first time, conveying everything she can in one soft sentence. "_Don't leave me._"

But he's only shifting her to his lap. "I won't."

**Sooo, what'd you think?**

**By the way, don't worry, the whole anger thing becomes much more relevant later on.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Why, hello there! How are you? Good, good, I'm glad to hear it.**

**So this is Chapter Two, and I think it's a bit lighter and more fast paced than Chapter One - though, rest assured, there _are_ dark patches, and there will certainly be more to come. **

**Just FYI, I pulled a few things directly out of Noël and placed them in a different context, here. It's just such a great episode - due credit to Sorkin.**

**Enjoy!**

**Rating: M**

**Reviews: My eternal gratitude to those of you who have reviewed already (: Feedback is always much appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The West Wing, though, one day, I'll work there. ;)**

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Do I need to get _her_ a room here too?"

Josh turns his head in surprise. He'd been watching Donna's exit, and, evidently, so had someone else.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"That's okay. It's something you learn when you work here. People going crazy, _sure_ makes people go crazy."

He cocks his head at the floor's head nurse. "And you are?"

She raises one eyebrow over her glasses. "I've got a name tag, sweetie."

"Well aren't you a charmer... Dee." He flashes her a grin.

"Mutual, I'm sure."

"It's Josh Lyman."

"I know."

He shakes his head, chuckling slightly. Something about this woman reminded him of Abbey Bartlet. "I'm already infamous?"

She ignores him. "Who was your friend?" Her tone implies she's already labeled them as something other than friends.

"She's my..." Should he inform her that she's his assistant? Probably best not to, as she was just crying into his chest. On his lap. "That's Donna Moss. A friend of mine."

"Should I be putting her on the frequent visitors list?"

"Uhh..."

"So she doesn't have to go through the front desk every time? We'll get her a badge."

"Yeah, okay."

She neglects to tell him that she's only allowed to do this for family. But the man needed someone - it was obvious. Someone other than that cantakerous old man who had dropped him off.

She notices her deputy beginning to shepherd the patients into the dining area. "You're going to see our resident psychiatrist later this evening for your diagnosis." She says carefully. Patients react to this sort of thing, sometimes. "Dr. Stanley Keyworth."

Josh looks aways, eyes darkening. "Okay."

"But for now." She adds brightly. "Take these with dinner." She reaches out, a little cup of medication in hand.

He accepts it suspiciously. "What's in this?"

She looks him dead in the eye. "Pills."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Donna!" CJ's voice is almost too eager. "How are you?"

"Me? Oh. I'm fine." she smiles softly. "Just catching up on some work before I take off for the rest of the morning."

"Yeah?"

"...To see Josh."

CJ's anxious eyes betray her. "How is... Josh?"

"Oh, as well as a person can be, 30 hours after attempting to off themselves." Her tone is bitter, rough. This isn't like her. "I'm sorry... I've just... Never mind. I was with him all afternoon yesterday, and Leo was there for a couple hours after dinner."

"That's... good. We've been worried about him."

She gives a short laugh. "Have you?"

"We have, Donna." She's attracted the attention of the communications bullpen, and this is Sam, at her elbow. "He's my best friend."

Donna looks down at the folders in her shaking hands, and then back up. Her eyes flick between Sam, CJ, and Toby, who's leaning on his office door. "Maybe you guys should visit him. You know, it'd mean a lot to him."

Sam cringes. "Look, Donna... With Josh gone-" He immediately realizes his mistake. "-for now, and Leo in and out, we're all just a little..." He gestures aimlessly.

"Busy?" Toby provides. Old habits die hard.

"Yes. Busy." Sam repeats apologetically, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We're all rather busy."

Why is he speaking to her as if she's a four year old?

"We'll try to get out there soon." CJ adds, trying for sincerity. Her eyes are downcast.

"Josh is a good friend of ours." Toby says quietly. As if she didn't know that.

Their eyes are shifty, their faces guilty. She knows. She knows that they don't want to visit him, and it's not because they're busy. It's because they're _uncomfortable_. It's because they're afraid it'll be _awkward_. They're _embarrassed_.

Hands shaking worse than ever, she thrusts her folders into her bag. "You know, it's _funny_." She looks around at them all, and her tone makes it very clear that she doesn't find it funny in the slightest. "I would've thought such good friends like you might've called once or twice yesterday to check on him, but I guess you were all too _busy_."

She marches out of the office, and within minutes she's regretting what she'd said. She couldn't really blame CJ, Sam, and Toby for their actions. They were all coping as best they could - just as she was.

No, They're not who she's mad at. And they're not who she blames.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

PTSD.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

He should've seen it coming. But, needless to say, he hadn't.

It's been all he can focus on since last night. PTSD. It was an odd thought - and now, as he sits on the nurses' counter following a breakfast he didn't eat, it seems to be the only one in his head.

The obvious first reaction was, of course, a large part of his struggle: He simply _couldn't_ have PTSD. At least, not working 40 feet from the Oval Office, he couldn't.

But for the most part, his conversation with Leo last night had cleared that up for him.

"_Well? What'd he say?" Looking entirely out of place in his Italian suit, Leo had leaned forward in his chair as Josh reentered the ward._

_"They think I may have an eating disorder." He cracks a smile, despite the tangle of emotions behind it. "Or a fear of rectangles."_

_Leo gives him his best _I'm tired of your shit, Josh _look. "It won't be a surprise to me, ya know. You can tell me."_

_Josh's grin fades, and he takes the seat across from him. "Leo..." He sighs loudly, gazing off into space. A hand absently rakes through his hair. "I... Can't."_

_"Josh." His voice is low, and deadly serious. "As long as I've got a job, you've got a job."_

_Josh's eyes flick back to his. "You know?"_

_He shrugs. "Yes."_

_"For how long? How'd you know?"_

_Leo's face reveals the smallest of smiles. "This guy's walking down the street, when he falls in a hole..."_

His job was, at the moment, safe. But did that mean he could share his diagnosis? With his friends? If it were to be leaked, the right wing would demand he be fired. It'd be a blowout - they might even accuse them of a coverup, an intent to mislead the public.

He distinctly remembers some other _wise_ words of Leo's, spoken close to a year ago. "_Records kept by these facilities are confidential."_

How well had that worked for him? It was only a matter of time before someone was accusing him of an inability to perform his job.

And would they be right?

He almost _wants_ to share his diagnosis. Because, in receiving it, he'd felt the most irrational... Happiness.

A completely unprovoked, perhaps stupid elation.

There was a _reason_.

Sure. Technically, he _was_ depressed, as Stanley had told him. He _had_ anxiety, and yes, he _was_ evidently suicidal, no matter how briefly or infrequently.

But _he had a reason._

He wasn't just off his rocker, he wasn't entirely insane.

This... this madness. This suffering. This pain. It had been caused by something. It was an internal reaction to something external.

_He had a reason_. And that made all the difference.

At least, it did to him.

Perhaps, deep down, he knows that there's isn't much difference between pure insanity and resultant insanity. But he _clings_ to this difference. It is his savior in the form of logic, in the form of reason. It is his justification, which he needs so desperately - perhaps because he's a lawyer. It's his probable cause, it's his logos, it's his post hoc ergo propter hoc.

And if that doesn't make any sense, he doesn't care.

_He had a reason_.

And surely, that makes it okay.

It makes what he's done, and all it's repercussions, _okay_.

"Is there a reason you've decided to park yourself on my counter?"

Josh jumps. "Morning, Dee."

"If you don't explain the presence of your ass on my counter in three... Two..."

"One of the other nurses told me I could sit here. I was bored."

"Poor baby."

"Aren't you supposed to, ya know, not _mock_ your patients?"

"They haven't fired me yet." Dee peers over her glasses at him with a smile. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine."

She raises an eyebrow. "Someone change your bandages yet?"

"Yeah, a surprisingly large amount of nurses offered."

She rolls her eyes. "I don't know what it is you're doing to make yourself so popular around here."

"It's the dimples." He says distractedly, watching the visitor's door swing open.

"You waiting for someone?"

"Huh? Oh, no."

"Rate your mood on a scale of one to ten."

"What?" He looks back at her to see she has a clipboard. "Umm, a seven."

She gives him a look.

"A four." He'd had a nightmare last night. It sounds childish, even in his head, but a nightmare like last night's has the power to set the tone of his entire day. Today, he's jumpy, and his heartbeat is too loud in his ears. He fidgets uncontrollably.

"Yeah. You don't look great."

"Thanks."

"Have a Xanax." She offers another little pill cup.

He wants to refuse, but he also doesn't want to feel like _this_ all day, either. "Okay." He swallows it dry.

"Good boy."

"Woof."

"I leave you alone for 12 hours and you've already descended to making animal noises. Fantastic."

Josh very nearly springs from the counter. Any time that Xanax wants to start working, that'd be great. "Good morning, Donnatella."

"Lassie."

"You're hilarious."

"Hi, you must be Donna." Dee smiles over the counter at her. "I'm Dee, I'm the head nurse for the floor."

"Oh." Donna seems taken aback that the woman knows her name. "It's nice to meet you."

Josh hops off the counter, placing a hand on the small of her back. It's the hand he'd put through the window, but he attempts to cover his wince. "Yeah, yeah. Come on."

He leaves Dee behind them, looking, if anything, amused.

"That was rather rude of you, Joshua." She attempts to scold him. He can't help but notice that her heart doesn't really seem to be in it.

"Yeah, don't care." He grins at her, but can't seem to maintain it. Her eyes are unnerving - they're cold, guarded.

"Where are we going?" She asks. He's leading her, he realizes, rather aimlessly down the hallway.

"I dunno."

"Okay."

Something's off. He can tell. He likes to think he can always tell with Donna - whether or not that's true.

"How was work this morning?" He attempts casually.

He hadn't thought it possible for her eyes to harden further. "Fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Pretty dull with out me there?"

She looks at the ground, and her voice drops to a whisper. "Yes."

Shame, in the form of an elephant, places a foot on his chest. He feels as if they're in a play - and he's the only one acting.

But he can't force himself to stop. "Yeah, hard to imagine life without me."

She stops dead in her tracks in the middle of the hallway. He does the same, turning to face her.

Her eyes are wide, and he can't tell if they're glassy with anger or brimming with tears. She's stock still, arms limp at her sides.

The elephant places another foot.

He's an asshole.

_"What the hell is the matter with you?_" Her voice, her face - they're deadly calm.

And that's when she punches him.

It's a moment before the feeling registers. She's rather scrawny, he finds himself thinking. But it's not her force that causes him to stumble backward.

She's punched _exactly the right spot._

It's in slow motion that he looks down at his chest. He sees the blood, and he feels a pain so intense it can only _be_ imagined.

He hears sirens - or is that a brass quintet?

Her face is horrified. Of course it is - He's dying.

"Josh?" She's on her knees in front of him. Unbeknownst to him, he'd sunk to the floor. "Josh?"

"I'm okay." He mumbles, breathing heavily.

Her hand over her mouth, her eyes fill with tears. "Josh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you still..."

She thinks it's a physical response. That the pain in his chest actually exists, outside of his head. "S'okay." He glances around in panic. "Help me up, before one of the nurses sees me."

She obliges, though she's not of much use. He brushes himself off and continues as if nothing ever happened. "Come on. I need to tell you something." Media leaks be damned.

He waits patiently for her to catch up before resuming his brisk pace. They turn the corner and yes, here it is. His very own room in the mental hospital. Is he supposed to bring people in here? It doesn't matter. He shuts the door behind them.

The room is, if anything, more depressing than thoughts of suicide. There's one twin bed (thank god he doesn't have a roommate), one side table, and a lamp. There's no window, presumably so he won't jump. There's no ceiling fan, presumably so he won't hang himself. There's no glass, not even a mirror - presumably so he won't slice his arm open.

And it smells of antiseptic.

"Josh?" He startles, realizing she's standing in the shadows, arms folded. "We've been in here for two minutes, what do you need to tell me?"

Her compassion from moments ago has dissipated.

"You're pissed." He blurts without thinking.

Her mouth drops open. "Josh - No, I... I couldn't be-"

"It's okay." he sighs, sinking into the bed. Hesitantly, she follows suit. "You have good reason to be."

"Josh-"

"But let me explain." He turns to her, pleadingly. "Donna, let me explain."

She stares at him carefully. "Okay."

Okay. Where should he start? His mouth is a little dry. He takes her hand, but soon regrets it. It draws attention to the bandages on his arm. He takes a deep breath.

"...Okay."

A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. "Okay."

"I have PTSD."

She sighs. "I figured."

It's his turn to gape at her. "Wha-?"

"Josh, did you honestly think I wouldn't notice? That I'm not the kind of person to type your symptoms into the computer, and try to diagnose you? I talked to Leo about it just last friday."

This takes him aback. So _that's_ how Leo knew.

"I knew you didn't cut your hand on a glass." She pulls her own hand away from his to gesticulate her points. "I was worried, he was worried, we were all worried... All of us. Leo called ATVA. We had set up for you to meet with them - today, actually - but then, you... You..."

"Yeah." He says numbly. "Yeah."

He stands, pacing to the corner of the small room. He raises a hand to his eyes, processing.

"I'm sorry we didn't - I didn't - sooner-"

He turns to see that she's wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to cry.

"Donna - Donna, no, it's not... Your fault."

"I know." She whispers.

"It's mine."

"Yeah."

This hits him hard. He feels his excuses crumbling away. "But it's not... Look, I couldn't think straight. I couldn't- I didn't think of anything else-"

"Exactly." She's on her feet, eyes flashing. "That's it. You didn't think of _anyone_ else."

He stares at her, confused.

"Did you ever think - for one moment, even one _instant_ in the past few weeks - about me? I'm not trying to be self-absorbed, I'm not, but Josh... I spent _months_ nursing you back to health. And, last time I checked, that's not in my job description. But I did it anyway - I spent every day with you, struggled with you through the ups, and, mostly downs of your recovery, especially those first few weeks. I cooked for you, I cleaned for you, I brought you work and I talked with you 24/7 to keep you sane. I mean, I guess it didn't work, evidently. And do you know why? Do you know why I did all of those things? Because I _wanted to."_

His shoulders slump slowly as she tears away at his _justification_.

No, he didn't think of her. Not even for a moment.

And his diagnosis did not, in the least, make it _okay_.

"I fought for your life, because I wanted to. I spent every day working tirelessly to make sure that you had the chance to live. I wanted you to live, I practically _willed_ you to live every minute that you were in that operating room. I fought for your life, day in and day out. And the fact that you were about to throw it away without a single thought to that... Josh, it _hurts_."

She's breathing heavily, arms stretched away from her. He can't imagine what it'd been like to hold that in. How it feels to have finally gotten it off her chest.

It's _not okay. _What he's done is _not okay_.

Tears have begun to cascade down her cheeks. He can't take it when she cries. He never knows what to do. Her arms drop to her sides, and he moves toward her.

He takes her face between his hands. She's crying in earnest now, her eyes searching his.

"I'm sorry." He says softly, and does the only thing he can think of to stop her tears. He presses his lips to hers.

At first, she's stock still, making no move to encourage or discourage him. He doesn't relent. It's a moment before he feels her melt against him, her lips parting and her body relaxing.

"I'm sorry." He says again when they pull apart. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry." He whispers it again and again, willing her to believe him, until there are no breaks left in which to speak.

His hands have moved from her face to her waist, wrapping around her. They begin to move up and down her back, trying to find the best way to pull her against him. Her hands are in his hair, tugging at it in a way that he loves.

He's pushed her against the wall, and with a slight jump, her legs are around his waist.

He laughs, and he thinks she does too.

_Who needs therapy?_

The dim room is flooded suddenly with light. They untangle themselves hastily, but not hastily enough.

One of the younger nurses stands in the doorway, her face turned slightly away in embarrassment. She's concealing a smile.

"Oh - I'm sorry - I didn't - Dee sent me to check on you is all, and, well - I suppose as long as you aren't alone, I umm - I'll be going now." She backs slowly out of the room, watching as Donna stands stock still and Josh's mouth opens and closes sonewhat like a fish.

She starts to make her exit, but stops and turns back. "Umm, the door doesn't lock, but..." She reaches for the doorknob. "I'll just flip this sign to 'Do Not Disturb'. I'll... Go now."

The door clicks shut behind her, and both of them stand staring straight ahead, at the spot where she'd vanished. Josh can't bring himself to move for what seems like several minutes.

It's Donna who breaks the spell. She tugs her shirt down, folding her arms self-consciously, and turns away from him. "I - sorry. We can't, I know. That was, um. Sorry."

She won't look at him. She grabs her bag from the bed and straightens her ponytail. "Yeah, you know, I'd better... Yeah." She starts toward the door.

Finally managing to overcome his paralysis, he springs forward and catches her wrist. She shivers.

"_Don't_." He says softly. "Don't go."

When she turns back to him, her eyes are unreadable. She steps forward slowly, placing her hands on his chest. His breath hitches. "...Give me a reason to stay."

His hands find her waist of their own accord. She's biting her lip.

This is wrong. He _knows_ this is wrong.

His voice is low. "Okay."

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**Ooh, this can't end well. Or can it? Don't ask me. I have no idea. I'm only the author, after all. **

**So, what'd you think?**

**Thanks for reading, expect more soon(ish)!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey, sorry for the delay! Here's what I've got. It's rather short and transitional, but sometimes that's what you need. Thanks so much for all the feedback, and I'd like to address a common concern: Of course Josh and Donna getting together at this point in the story is unwise. In fact, it's just about the worst course of action. But that doesn't mean it's something they wouldn't do, eh? **

**Reviews: Pretty please? :)**

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimer: So maybe I don't own TWW. You got me. Surprise, surprise... *quietly sobs***

**Enjoy!**

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This is wrong. She _knows_ this is wrong.

But it hadn't felt that way.

She's almost glad the bed is so small - it removes the awkward indecision of whether or not to hold each other after. She doesn't want to know whether his arms would be around her otherwise, she only wants to take solace in the fact that they are.

But they can't stay like this for long.

She looks up at him subtly. He's smiling.

Is this... good? Is it a positive? Or has she only caused more damage? A sinking feeling tells her the latter.

This is wrong. She _knows_ this is wrong.

She'd slept with a mental patient. In his hospital bed. Perhaps it's laughable - though it doesn't feel that way. He was weak. He was volatile. He was a mess. He'd been suicidal only days before. He's a _wreck_. He has absolutely no way of knowing what he wants. But in that_ moment_, in that instant - he'd wanted her.

And she had wanted him.

Was she any less of a wreck?

No. She wasn't.

But _he_ needed her to be. He needed her to be the stable one. The rational one. The steady one.

Well, she'd just gone and fucked _that_ up pretty badly. And she'd _wrecked_ them even farther.

This is wrong. She _knows_ this is wrong.

She takes a deep breath. "We need to get dressed."

"What? Oh. Right."

They dress without so much as looking at each other. Or perhaps he looks at her - she wouldn't know. She only looks back at him when she's finished, to be sure he's ready for her to open the door. He's leaning against the wall, arms folded, staring into space. When light floods the room, he squints and follows her out.

They walk down the hall in silence. Other patients drift past them, but she takes no notice. He picks up speed behind her until he's almost close enough to touch her- but she simply walks faster. She turns back to face him only when they've reached the center of the ward, in front of the nurses' desk.

"Are you okay?"

"Am _I_?" She can't help a small smile, looking at his furrowed brow. "Are you?"

He clears his throat. "I'm... good."

_For now_. "That's... good."

He moves forward but then seems to think better of it - perhaps she's giving off the don't-touch-me vibe.

"Are you leaving?" he asks, only just noticing her bag in hand.

"I'm..." her phone rings, and she's glad. She has no idea what she would've said next - what she would've_ done_ next. She walks off a little ways to answer. "Hello?"

"Donna. Hi."

"Hi."

"It's CJ."

"Oh... Okay."

"Look, I'm sorry about the way we - _I_ - was acting, this morning."

This morning? What had happened this morning? _Oh, right_. But hadn't that been ages ago? "That's okay, CJ."

"We've been talking about it, and... you were right."

"I was?"

"Sam, Toby and I are going to come visit Josh."

"...You are?" She asks faintly.

"We cleared some time, and we'll be over soon. I tried to call you earlier, but you weren't picking up."

_Oh_. "Oh, sorry about that. I was..."

"You _will_ be there, right?" She could be mistaken, but Donna detects notes of anxiety in CJ's tone.

They don't want to be alone with him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be here."

"Okay. We can take off in about thirty minutes, is that good?"

_No, he's otherwise engaged._ She bites back the sarcastic retort. "Yeah. Sure. I'll wait around for you guys."

"Alright. See you then."

The line clicks dead, and Donna snaps her phone shut with shaking hands. She takes a deep breath before walking back to Josh. He waits with folded arms, leaning his back against the wall.

"Hey."

"Who was that?"

"CJ."

"Yeah?"

"She and Sam and Toby are going to stop by soon."

His eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"They're going to come for a visit."

He stands up and starts pacing, running his hand through his hair. "Great. Just great. Fantastic."

She bites her lip. "You don't want to see them?"

He stops and looks at her with a wry smile. "The question is whether or not they want to see me."

"Of course they want to-"

"Like this?" He glares at his surroundings, and lowers his voice. "They'll treat me like a nutcase."

She reaches out to touch him for the first time since she'd climbed out of bed. She places a hand on his arm in a placating gesture, and offers him a small smile. "...You _are_ a nutcase."

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This should be more awkward. This should be _far_ more awkward. It shouldn't feel so completely natural, sitting comfortably on the couch with Donna's head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist.

Well, perhaps it _could_ have been considered normal. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that they find themselves in this position - it had happened before, though typically by accident. It _could_ have been considered normal, that is, if the couch hadn't been the property of a mental hospital. Oh, and if they hadn't just slept together.

But it did. And they had.

And it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

How had they reached this point, when not ten minutes ago she couldn't bear to look at him? Honestly, he didn't really know - and he wasn't about to ask. All he knew was that, he wasn't the only one who was a little unstable. Or, _rather_ unstable.

He pulls her closer. It didn't matter. They'd deal with it eventually.

Ironically, he hears her voice in his head - _Just like you to procrastinate, Josh. _But it was justifiable in this case, wasn't it?

They'd deal with eventually - perhaps together. Maybe. Hopefully? He doesn't know. He hadn't even thought remotely that far ahead.

But enough of that. It's okay to be in the present, for now.

_...Just like you to procrastinate, Josh._

"I think I hear Sam." Donna sits up, pulling away from him. He's miffed only for an instant, as she's right. Sam's rounding the corner, with CJ and Toby close behind.

"Why do all the nurses laugh when we say Josh Lyman?"

"If there's a mortifying story to uncover, rest assured, I'll find it." Toby replies seriously.

CJ elbows both of them, smiling awkwardly at Josh and Donna as she's the first to see them.

"Hey, you two." She attempts casually, crossing to the couch facing theirs.

"How's it going?" Sam asks nervously as he and Toby follow suit.

"Just peachy." Josh attempts a smile, and finds it's not too hard. The looks on their faces are almost laughable.

"For the sake of avoiding discomfort, let's all pretend that that's true." Toby says dryly, only causing everyone else further discomfort. Josh thinks to himself that perhaps Toby thrives on discomfort.

"Right. How are you guys?" He pushes on.

"Oh, we're good. We're great." CJ's smile is far too wide.

"That's great."

"Yupp. Great." Sam's grin is equally painful.

They lapse into silence, and Josh notices each of them attempting to peer discreetly at the bandages on his arm. "How's work?" he asks quickly.

"Work is... great." Sam winces as soon as he's said it.

"Yeah? You guys got the votes you need locked up before congress let's out for the holiday?"

"Oh, yeah. We're all gr-" Toby stops himself. "We've got it covered."

Their expressions aren't quite as funny anymore. He doesn't like being treated like a time bomb. He would probably say something he regrets, but Donna chooses this moment to take his hand.

"Have you guys had lunch yet?" She asks evenly, without being overly bright. Thank god for her.

"Hmm? Oh, no." CJ says, checking her watch. "It's almost two, I hadn't realized. Have you eaten?"

"No, neither of us have."

"Don't they have food here?"

Josh snorts. "I wouldn't exactly qualify it as edible."

The others laugh nervously.

"Could we bring you something?" Sam asks uncertainly.

"Yeah, I don't see why not." Donna smiles, and Josh realizes that this had been her intention from the onset. "If you don't mind, that is."

"Oh, no. I'll go." he says readily, leaping to his feet. Josh tries hard to interpret his eagerness as a mere desire to help - not as the urge to get away from him. "What do you guys want?"

"A salad."

"Me too."

"A burger."

"_Yes._" Josh agrees emphatically. "Me too. Have them burn mine, and get fries."

The others laugh again, more freely this time. For once, Donna doesn't try to restrict him. "And a milkshake." she adds with a smile.

He turns to her incredulously. "You're letting me get a shake?"

"No, I'm letting you get some of a shake. We both know I'll be drinking most of it."

He laughs, feeling a little better. "Yeah, don't count on it. Thanks Sam."

"No problem." Sam pauses on his way out, and awkwardly places a hand on his shoulder. "...Hang in there, buddy."

Josh lets that hang in the air a moment. He supposes he could be irritated, or get angry - a part of him certainly wants to. But for the first time in a while, he's in too good a mood to let something like this bother him. He bursts out laughing.

The other four stare at him, bewildered.

"Sure thing, _buddy_. I'll try not to go round the bend a second time while you're gone."

Sam turns red, and makes his exit a midst more laughter. Any discomfort that had remained follows him out the door.

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"So this time you're really going?" And this time he's actually smiling.

"Yeah. But I'll be back in the morning."

He wants to ask what time, but a part of him, which he's not accustomed to listening to, warns him not to be clingy. "Okay. I'll see you then."

"Stay out of trouble while I'm gone?"

"Yeah." He grins.

"I'm comparing your story with the nurses. You'll take your meds?"

"Donna."

"And talk to what's his face? Stanley?"

"_Donna._"

"And don't be up too late, you know, sleep is really... what?" She peers up at him, almost nervously.

"Look, I think it's really sweet that you're worried about me." He smiles in a way he hopes is charming. "But I'm okay, really. Worry about you for a while."

"Me?"

He rolls his eyes. He'd only been trying to get that message through for the past three days. "Yeah. You. I'm telling you, I'm good."

She relaxes a little, and sticks out her lower lip slightly like she does when she doesn't really believe him, but is willing to humor him. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay." They're both looking down at their entwined hands as if just remembering they're there. He's wondering vaguely if he should kiss her, but in an instant she's swept down the hallway, and he's left staring at the swinging door of a mental hospital.

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"Good morning, ladies. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Josh swaggers around the nurses desk, arms wide. Some of the nurses chuckle, but Dee doesn't even look up. "Have you gone crazy?"

"I had thought that was the consensus."

"But this is new, and mildly frightening."

"What, I can't be happy?"

She turns around, an eyebrow raised. "Do I need to put you down for bipolar disorder, too?"

"Go on, make jokes. Nothing can kill my buzz."

He leans against the counter, grinning. A younger nurse attempts to cover a snort, and fails. "We know _all_ about your buzz."

His brow furrows. "Yeah?"

Dee shakes her head. "It's all over the place."

"Don't you people have better things to do than gossip?"

"It's time for your session with Stanley."

"I'll pass."

"Not an option, sweetie."

"I think you've just managed to kill my buzz."

"Go get less crazy."

"The impossible dream."

He walks slowly down the hallway, glancing back when he hears the laughter of nurses.

He's feeling the odd hope he'd awoken with slowly trickling away at the prospect of seeing Stanley. His persistent questioning was almost entirely about the very event he felt it better to simply avoid.

This morning was the first, in what felt like a very long time, that he'd actually felt anything positive upon waking. Usually the first thing he'd experience each day would be dread - a night of torture had come to an end, only to be replaced by a day of it. The dread he felt now was almost certainly worse, as he comes down off his rare high with an unpleasant sinking feeling.

Now that the negative is creeping in, he might as well be realistic... The source of his brief happiness was anything but substantial. This time tomorrow, he could easily have as little to live for as he had three nights before.

_No_. He reminds himself. _I can't do this anymore. I have friends, I have a job, I have a civic duty, and a future, and... _Who knows. Perhaps, somehow... he could find a way to make his hope last a little longer each day.

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She spots him slouched on the couch again, staring blankly into space. An unfamiliar knot forms in her stomach in at the sight of him. She's not sure how to act - and not sure how he will.

"Hey."

When he looks up at her, the haggard look in his eyes comes as a surprise. "Hey."

"Are you okay?"

His gaze flicks back to the wall in front of him. "Yupp."

"Are you sure?"

He doesn't look at her. "You bet."

**Sorry this was so short and lacking in substance. I just needed something to take me where I want to go :P Let me know what you think, suggestions welcome.**


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